False Accusations (43 page)

The jury listened intently as Stanton described his conversation with Movis Ehrhardt. Denton inquired about the video they were about to play. Stanton explained why it was made, who made it, the date it was filmed, and the manner in which the filming was accomplished.

Warwick objected again to the showing of the video for the record, citing its lack of foundation and relevance, and its highly prejudicial nature. Calvino overruled the objection, and the bailiff was instructed to initiate playback.

As expected, it had the same effect on the jury as it had had on everyone else who had viewed it—some of the jurors looked at Harding afterward, their faces betraying their thoughts: how could someone be so cold and calculating? She turned away to avoid their gazes, as clear an admission of guilt as there was without overtly entering a guilty plea.

Denton extracted from Stanton the reasons for his reluctance to testify, and by the time he finished, he had all the jurors’ sympathies...while Harding had all their wrath.

To cap off the day, Denton finished with a mere formality: the private investigator who filmed the video—verifying the date and time when it was created, and what he observed. He flawlessly reiterated Stanton’s story.

Warwick had no questions for either of them; the damage had been done, and belaboring the subject would only drive home the image of Harding’s admission of extortion.

Although Warwick undoubtedly wanted to ignore the repulsive content of the tape and move on, Denton was hoping that it would remain an indelible mark against Harding no matter what her attorney was able to accomplish in the coming days of trial.

THE DAY FOLLOWING Stanton’s testimony, Hellman was in Department 12, participating in the trial that had started a couple of days ago. The judge had recessed early, and Hellman stopped in to see how Denton’s case was progressing. He arrived at the tail end of the day’s testimony pertaining to the rape accusation against Madison.

One of Denton’s last witnesses, who was on the stand when Hellman arrived, was Mary Bender, a police officer trained as a rape counselor. It was her job to meet with the victim upon presentation, and accompany her to the hospital to ensure that the appropriate evidence was properly secured and marked. She was well versed in trials, having testified in over one hundred rape cases as to the nature of the evidence obtained, the type of physical evidence one would expect to find on a victim, and the process by which the evidence was collected.

“So, Officer Bender, please tell the court what evidence one would expect to find following a rape,” Denton said.

She leaned forward and used a hand to comb her coarse ash blond locks behind her ears. “We’d find seminal constituents in or around the vagina of a rape victim. Physical findings such as bruises or bleeding confirm that a violent act occurred. Sometimes, the transfer of physical evidence, such as blood, semen, hairs, and fibers will occur between assailant and victim.

“Following the act, we take vaginal swabs, and sometimes oral and anal swabs as well. Pubic combings will be made to check for loose or foreign hairs. Saliva and blood samples are secured, and fingernail scrapings are taken to check for skin that the victim might have scratched from the assailant.”

“You’ve read the report of the investigating officers?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And was any of the physical evidence you mentioned a moment ago found in this complaint of rape brought by Ms. Harding?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Ms. Harding did not come forward until five weeks after the alleged act.”

Denton walked back to the jury box, leaned on the railing, and faced his witness. “A moment ago, you mentioned a number of common items of evidence found in rape cases. Have you ever heard of phone calls made from an alleged assailant’s home being used as evidence of rape?”

“No.”

“What about fingerprints of the alleged assailant on the alleged victim’s belt?”

“In and of itself, I wouldn’t use that as evidence that a rape occurred. There are obviously a great many explanations for the presence of fingerprints on a belt buckle.”

“Objection,” interrupted Warwick. “Officer Bender is not an expert on what could or could not be considered evidence in a rape trial.”

Calvino looked over to Denton for his response. “Your Honor,” Denton said, turning away from his witness to face the judge, “Ms. Bender is a police officer with special training in rape cases. She often testifies as to the collection of evidence, and the relevance of each piece of that physical evidence. I believe she’s eminently qualified to comment—if not from a legal perspective, then from the perspective of a police officer trained in the investigation of rape.”

“Overruled, Mr. Warwick.”

Denton turned back to Bender. “In your opinion, officer, is there any evidence at all of rape in this case?”

“None. None whatsoever.”

“Thank you, officer,” Denton said as he turned to take his seat.

Calvino asked Warwick if his cross-examination could wait until tomorrow; receiving an affirmative response, court was convened for the day and the jury was dismissed.

As Denton packed his attaché, Hellman walked over. “Looking good.”

“Went well. But this is all slam-dunk stuff. This morning I brought on the two rape detectives—Coleman and Valentine.”

“Coleman and Valentine. I remember them,” Hellman said, shaking his head in a manner displaying dissatisfaction.

“Don’t knock them too hard, they did well today. They told how they followed up on all of their leads, and the fact that there was virtually nowhere to go because of the lack of evidence. No witnesses, no police report, no medical evidence. Straightforward stuff.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “The tough part comes when your guy takes the stand.”

“He’ll be ready,” Hellman said. “Any idea when you’ll need him?”

“Friday. Tell him to be ready for Friday.”

It was Madison who suggested he and Hellman meet for dinner a couple of nights later at Fifth Street Café. He had been unable to go near the place since his meeting with Harding a few months ago, but he thought a positive dining experience with his friend could help restore its status as his favorite restaurant.

Hellman scooped his escargot while Madison munched on his duck salad.

“Ronald Norling testified yesterday. He was a little rough around the edges, but he did well. Warwick couldn’t rattle him. At one point, when Warwick was trying to beat him down, Norling said, ‘Look, man, I’m just telling you what I saw and heard. She said she was going to get even, make him pay. Simple as that. I don’t know this guy Madison, and I don’t know that lady over there. I don’t care what happens to either of them. I’m just telling you how it was.’ Totally shut Warwick down. He had to back off.” Hellman chuckled. “Warwick then tried to attack his background, but the kid put him down again, telling him that he wasn’t a model citizen, and didn’t claim to be—he just saw what he saw. Nobody gave him anything for testifying, and he was missing time from his new job back East. So he told him, essentially, get out of my face. Great stuff.”

Madison was so mesmerized by what Hellman was saying that he had stopped eating. The main course came before he had finished his salad.

“Denton told me he also had a professional photographer testify that the photo Harding had taken of you and her was staged.”

“Yeah, but was he able to prove it?”

“The guy brought a couple of models into court and had them assume similar positions to what you did with Harding, and he snapped a few pictures with a telephoto lens using the same camera angle. He then popped them into his laptop and showed ’em to the jury. They bore a striking resemblance to the picture of you and Harding.”

“Imagine that.”

“Exactly the point: the jury didn’t have to—they saw it with their own eyes. Warwick was objecting all over the place, renewing the arguments he’d made during his pretrial motion. But the judge allowed it and Denton thinks it only reinforced for the jury what type of person Harding is.”

“If she wasn’t going to use it against me, why’d she have the picture taken in the first place?”

Hellman nodded. “Denton finished up with a psychiatrist—a Dr. Hall from the Bay Area—who testified as to an individual’s state of mind when driven to prepare a plot seeking revenge. From what I saw, he did a damn good job. Talked about obsessive behavior and how Harding’s personality was a good fit. Said something to the effect of her ‘having been driven to revenge by the persistence of an irresistible thought or feeling that was associated with anxiety.’ Of course, Warwick tried to impeach him by getting Hall to admit that he’d never actually examined Harding—the usual tactic. But I think he left his mark with the jury.”

“I’ve never heard of this guy. Hall, you said?”

“Yeah, from Marin. Came highly recommended. Denton brought him in from the Bay Area to eliminate any accusations that he knew you professionally or personally. He didn’t want to give Warwick any ammunition for impeachment due to bias.”

“My turn Friday?”

Hellman nodded. “Just tell what happened, and no matter what, don’t let Warwick rattle you.”

“I’m used to hostile attorneys, remember? I’ve been through all this before.”

“This is different. You’re used to testifying about medical issues. This is your personal life, regarding something that can easily be turned into an attack on you as an individual. He’s going to try and bring out all sorts of irrelevant stuff, some of which will be lies and distortions of the truth. My best advice is to remain levelheaded and treat the jury as if they’re patients and give them a dose of your sweet bedside manner,” Hellman said, speaking more as Madison’s attorney than his friend. “But whatever Warwick says to you or about you, just roll with the punches. Don’t let him bait you and get you all riled up.”

“You know it takes a lot to do that, Jeffrey.”

Hellman smiled. He knew, but he no doubt felt better saying it nonetheless.

THE EVENING TEMPERATURE had been a bone-chilling 26 degrees. While it was not nearly as cold as most winter nights in the East, many people native to the Sacramento area considered the 20s unusually frigid, and fireplaces were burning into the early morning, casting a fog-like pall over the moonlit gray sky. The air smelled of smoke, and flakes of ashes lazily rode the gentle breeze through the teeth-chattering night air.

Madison arrived at the Superior Court building at 8:25 Friday morning. Although the police had long ago released his car to him, having examined, videotaped, and photographed it from every conceivable angle, he chose to drive Leeza’s minivan. The thought of arriving at the courthouse in the very car that had been the subject of intense scrutiny during the past few months seemed in bad taste, and only invited more debate and comment—even though the damage to the front end had been repaired.

He was wearing a navy blue suit with a stark white shirt and a silk tie that was emblazoned with a brilliant red paisley pattern. His hair was immaculately styled and his face was dean shaven, lightly bronzed, and taut. It was Leeza’s suggestion that he spend yesterday afternoon at a salon getting a tan, followed by a massage, facial, and haircut. It allowed him to collect his thoughts, spruce up for the coming event, and relax.

As he entered the courtroom, the olive-uniformed bailiff led him to the witness chair. He glanced toward the jury. They appeared focused, students with pens and pads poised, as if he were the guest lecturer about to provide answers that were needed for their final exam.

This was the climax of the prosecution’s case, the make-or-break point. It was the jury’s opportunity to meet the man who was such an integral focus of this case. This was their chance to scrutinize him, to decide whether he was credible, worthy of their vote of confidence against Harding.

Both Denton and Hellman had decided that if the jurors believed Madison—particularly if they took a liking to him—they would feel the opposite toward Harding. The verdict would already be decided by the time they sat down to begin their deliberations.

“Dr. Madison,” Denton said at 9:15, “a few moments ago you outlined your medical credentials, appointments, and accomplishments. A rather long list. I bet you’re proud of them.”

“I am. I’ve worked hard for each one of them.”

“How about your activities outside of medicine?”

“I have a wife and two young children.”

“Doesn’t leave much time for anything else, does it?” Denton asked.

“No, it doesn’t,” Madison said with a chuckle.

“But you have been involved in other things, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us about those activities?”

“I served as president of the American Heart Association for two years, I was a board member for the American Cancer Society and the Sacramento Symphony, and until recently, I served on the River City Theater Company’s board of directors. I’ve been a board member and vice president of the Consortium for Citizens with Mental Retardation. I’m currently president of the Consortium.”

“Do you get any compensation for any of this?”

“Are you asking me if I get paid?”

“Yes. Money or other benefits of any sort.”

“No. It’s volunteer work. I don’t receive anything. Other than the satisfaction of doing something to help others.”

“Dr. Madison, do you give money to charitable interests?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Approximately, how much did you give to nonprofit causes last year?”

“A little over eighteen thousand dollars.”

“Thank you, sir.” Denton and Madison had worked on this preamble in advance, and appeared to be in a rhythm together. He proceeded to ask him about his relationship with Brittany Harding, how he came to meet her, his dealings with her, and his conversations with Michael Murphy when it became apparent that she was providing less than a stellar performance as interim administrative officer.

“And how did she react when you suggested to her that she should submit a job application for the position she was temporarily holding?”